


In nomine Patris...

by lunadesangre



Series: Lifers [1]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadesangre/pseuds/lunadesangre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remembering – growing up, loosing faith. Loosing hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In nomine Patris...

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Mswriter07's other Oz Magi 2011 prompt ( _When faith fails only one person can help._ ) – inspired because though I _was_ trying to fill it, this is what came up, and it's too short and depressing for me to consider I succeeded at filling that prompt.  >>; Not to mention it's not AU – in itself at least. (It fits nicely with _Lifers_ though, which is why I'm sticking it there.)

In his darkest hours, Miguel remembers the fumes of incense, sweet and bitter, clouding his brain with a sense of mind-numbing peace, blurring his vision as they went up, the thurible swaying back and forth on its chain, from his hands, in a comforting, hypnotic motion. Sometimes, in passing, he’d wonder if it was his hands making it move or the thurible itself making his hands move. It didn’t matter though, no more than the too tight collar of his stupid robes, his mother’s embarrassingly proud teary eyes, _every time_ , or the fact that his father was never there to see – Miguel got lost in the movement, the scent, the sense of peace. Back then, for an hour every Sunday, God loved him.

But Miguel stopped being an altar boy a couple of months before his tenth birthday. Maybe that’s why God is mad at him? Miguel had always hated wearing those robes anyway; there was no fucking way he was going to continue doing so with the others kids picking on him because of it. The padre told him some shit about turning the other cheek – Miguel told him to go fuck himself. He guesses that was his first offense, the first one of many. Miguel could have been good – _could_ have, and he chose not to. That’s a sin in itself.

Pride. It’s what it all comes back to. Miguel’s fucking pride, that led him here. Locked in prison with his infant son dying in another prison, the one Miguel got his baby’s mother locked in too. Had to fuck up, not just his life, but hers as well. Maybe that’s why God wants to take his son away – Miguel’s just not worth him. Not worth having something so small and pure and fragile, because he always fucks up. Maybe it’s better for his baby to die than actually get to know him. That way he’s not headed to a life of suffering, fucked up by his father. Maybe _that’s_ what God thinks.

 _Bastard_.

*

In his darkest hours, Ryan remembers the cold floor under his knees, through his threadbare jeans, the choking, deadly silence of the empty church. He remembers closing his eyes so tight he could pretend, in some hysterical, desperate daydream, that the bright lights were angels or saints coming to take him away. Fairies even, _anything_. He remembers fervently mouthing the words, clasping his hands tight and shivering all over, jumping at small noises, in case it was his father. He remembers being afraid anyone saw him, as if praying was an illicit act, because no one ever believed he was there only for that. But he had never done anything wrong then, never. He didn’t even lie – but everyone thought he did, and no one ever believed him. No one ever helped him, not even God. He was only asking to be saved – saved from his Dad, him and Cyril and Carolyn and their Ma. Was that too much to ask? _Just a small miracle, please make him stop hitting us, please. Please._ Why didn’t God ever listen to him? Ryan wasn’t bad, not then. Or was he truly just completely rotten from the start? Born so hopelessly incorrigible, he deserved every single abuse his Dad and the rest of the world insisted on ditching on him?

Fuck that. He lost his faith when his baby sister lost her life, with the dry, crunchy sound of her snapped neck.

After that, nothing mattered. He wasn’t a liar but he became one, because if no one, not even a priest – _not even God_ – believed him when he told the truth, why should Ryan even bother?

His spun web of lies is a better protection than his faith ever was.

*

_“Hey padre, where was God when my son died?”_

_“The same place he was when his own son died.”_

And that doesn’t make him a bastard? Who watches his son die like that, doing nothing to stop it?

Him and God. Who knew they’d have so much in common.

Difference is, Miguel thinks, if _he_ could have stopped _his_ son from dying, he would have. Unlike _God_.

Which says a lot about his pride, really. God’s not very likely to be pleased with him any time soon.

*

In Oz, he does go to mass, to pass the time. Confession, he’s not quite sure why he goes. On some level it does help to talk, he guesses. And Mukada is a nice guy, a good priest. He actually listens, and he believes in this bullshit. Sister Pete too. Sometimes Ryan catches himself wishing the nuns and priests in his hood had been like that when he was a kid. Only sometimes though; most of the time, he avoids thinking about it. Consciously: it’s useless to dwell on what ifs, and he has a future. He does. He’s gonna walk out of here, him and his lies, and he doesn’t need any fucking help from anyone.

Then there’s cancer. Gloria. Cyril. His Ma. Cyril’s death conviction. Meehan, and Meehan’s death, and Cyril’s execution.

And he begs God. Gets on his knees and _begs_ with his forehead touching the ground, with every fiber of his being, every last shred of his rotten, unworthy soul – _please save my brother, please_.

And God listens – and just when Ryan has faith again, too breathlessly dizzy with relief and gratefulness to doubt – God changes his mind. Poof goes his brother, or more accurately: _Zap!_ One dead little brother to go with his dead little sister.

_Oh yeah. Believe in Me, Ryan. Believe in Me._


End file.
